Friendly Reminders
by kyleisgod
Summary: Scott Malkinson is at the end of his rope. Bullied by some and ignored by others, he's taking the final drastic step. Unless a fellow victim can help talk him out of it.


Butters Stotch beating him up was the last straw. Post-beatdown apology or no, Scott Malkinson couldn't take it anymore. Not when even the people he considered his friends were turning against him. He'd contemplated doing it for some time, but now he was finally going to see it through right there in front of everyone during lunch break. They'd see and feel his pain; the images burned into their memories, leaving a traumatic scar. Maybe then the assholes of the school would think twice about picking on someone. Maybe more people would learn to stand up to guys like Eric Cartman before such a tragedy happened again instead of standing idly by and doing nothing to prevent it. Maybe everyone would just be excited to miss a little bit of school, forget Scott Malkinson's name, and move on as if nothing had even happened. It didn't matter whether it made a difference or not. Scott wouldn't be around to see the aftermath anyway.

Cold metal pressed against Scott's tongue. He steadied his shaking hand and inched the object further down his throat. No time to back out now. Several eyes fell upon him, but no students made a move. Scott closed his eyes as his body grew colder. It would all be over soon. He'd die alone at his table. How fitting. Warm tears on Scott's cheek counteracted the cold sensation just before the feeling of what Scott assumed was death hit his brain.

Or perhaps it was just an ice cream headache.

"Dude, what's wrong with Scott Malkinson?" Kyle Broflovski wondered from over at his usual table with his usual friends. He pointed at the obviously troubled boy; drawing his friends' attention over to him as well.

"He's probably on his period." Cartman guessed with a shrug of his large shoulders.

"Shut up, fat ass!" Kyle said.

"I'm seriously, Jew! Chicks cry and eat ice cream on their periods all the time."

"That's true." Kenny confirmed.

"Well dude, go check it out." Stan suggested. If Kyle was so concerned, go see what was up. It seemed obvious.

"_You_ check it out." Kyle argued.

"I don't care." Stan replied.

Truthfully, no one who valued their cool kid reputation ever wanted to be seen with Scott Malkinson. That, Kyle suspected, may have very well been part of the problem Scott was having now. Even Butters was higher on the cool kid totem pole. It had to get pretty lonely for the poor guy. Kyle sighed and made his way over to Scott's otherwise empty table. He couldn't sit back and watch this go on any longer.

"Hey, Scott." Kyle greeted.

Scott replied with a half-hearted wave. His other hand was still clutching the metal spoon; his mouth too full of ice cream to reply verbally.

Kyle took a seat across from Scott. He didn't ask if he could sit down there. It was the polite thing to do, but Scott Malkinson knew his position at school by now. It would only be cruel to ask if the empty seats around him were somehow taken. It would only serve as a reminder that Scott Malkinson was alone.

"That's a pretty big tub of ice cream you've got there." Kyle remarked. It was over a gallon. A generic chocolate flavor from South Park Grocery according to the packaging, but it would get the job done.

"You can have some if you want." Scott deadpanned. Of _course_ Kyle was only coming over to ask about the ice cream.

"No thanks, I'm diabetic. I thought you were too."

Scott was surprised he remembered. "I am."

Confused, Kyle said "Then shouldn't you not be eating this much ice cream at once? It could kill you."

"That's the idea."

**Kyle's eyes widened. "What?"**

"**I'm killing myself."**

**Kyle blinked. "With ice cream?"**

**Scott frowned. "I'm too scared to do it the other ways. They'd hurt!"**

**As creative a suicide as a diabetic shoveling sugar into his stomach was, Kyle couldn't stand by and watch Scott Malkinson very slowly off himself. "Look, Scott, you don't have to do this."**

"**Please don't act like you care." Scott Malkinson had plenty of pity-friends and prostitutes in the past that pretended to give a damn about him. They were fun for a while, but quickly wore thin.**

"**I'm not acting." Kyle assured him.**

"**You just don't want me to kill myself. If I don't you'll just go right back to ignoring me like everyone else does."**

"**Scott, why are you even doing this? Is life really **_**that**_** bad? Come on; just…put the spoon down."**

**Scott shoved another spoonful of chocolate goodness into his mouth in defiance of Kyle's hollow words. "You don't know what it's like! No one cares about me! I get picked on every day!"**

"**Excuse me?! Time out! The hell I don't know what that's like!" Kyle's anger momentarily rose. "If you don't notice Eric Cartman making my life Hell every day then **_**you**_** must be the one ignoring people! Shit, you've got it easy if anything."**

**Scott took offense at that remark. "How?!"**

"**At least **_**you**_** don't have to put up with the Jew jokes. Or the Ginger jokes. Or the bitch mom jokes. Or-"**

"**Okay, okay." Scott conceded. "But it's still not worth it."**

"**What's not worth it is ending your life over some other prick's behavior. If Cartman's the asshole, **_**he**_** should kill himself. If you're a good guy, stick around. The world needs more good guys than assholes. You say people don't care about you, well **_**make**_** them! And you can't do that if you're dead, dumbass."**

"**How do I do that?" Scott wondered. He put down his next spoonful of ice cream, but continued holding onto the spoon for now.**

**Kyle shrugged. "Find a skill? I don't know. I just know that people who were considered nerds like y - …like us, grew up to write and invent amazing stuff."**

**Scott paused. "Like what?"**

"**Star Wars. Harry Potter. Comic books. The internet. Insulin jet injectors…."**

**Intrigued, Scott Malkinson finally put the spoon down completely. "What was that last one?"**

"**Insulin jet injectors? Dude they're awesome! They make it so us diabetics don't have to keep shooting ourselves with needles every day. It sprays your skin and…" Kyle paused, then dug into his coat pocket. "You know what? Here."**

**Scott watched in near amazement as Kyle removed his own personal insulin jet injector from his jacket and then reached across the table. Kyle placed the device in Scott's hand in place of the death-spoon he'd previously been holding.**

"**I can't-"**

"**I want you to." Kyle assured him. "But no more crap about no one caring about you, okay?"**

"…**Okay."**

**Kyle smiled. The crisis had been averted. He'd continue to hang with his friends more than Scott, and Scott would likely continue to be teased by the bad guys of the world, but at least now every time he looked at his daily dose of insulin he could be reminded that at least someone cared about him just a little bit.**


End file.
